


Stripping Down

by njw



Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Humor, JayTim Week, JayTimBINGO2019, M/M, Protective Bruce Wayne, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, undercover as a stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-19 05:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20204767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Tim turns to him with a quick, shy smile before rapidly climbing the pole, waiting for Jason to position himself under him. “Like this?” he asks, arching his back, gripping the pole tightly between his shapely little thighs and beginning a slow, grinding descent. Jason did not realize until this moment it was possible to be so jealous of a fuckin’pole.Oh fuck, I’m gonna die again. Of embarrassment or blue balls, just take your fuckin’ pick.“Yeah, Baby Bird,” he says, almost not recognizing his voice for how throaty and deep it sounds right now. “Just like that.”*For thetumblr Jaytim month(ish) 2019week two soulmate prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Chibinightowl, Salazarastark, Snow, and Strawberryjei for the lovely beta. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Red Hood finishes breaking down the AR-15 he just liberated from the mafioso currently bound and snoring at his feet. He almost tosses the pieces to the ground in disgust as he identifies the same inherent design flaws he’s already seen twice tonight. There isn’t a chance in _hell_ these pieces of shit would have ever passed inspection at any reputable facility.

Whether it’s careless molding, shoddy materials, or both, the damn things overheat when fired and start warping. With every shot, the barrels go just a little bit farther from true until eventually a bullet gets lodged. If the idiot holding the gun doesn’t realize it didn’t fire properly and tries to shoot again, there’s nowhere for the gas and pressure to go.

_Boom._

Someone’s selling defective guns in Gotham. The worst of it is, the semi-automatic weapons are dangerous as _fuck_ because not only will they shoot just fine and probably kill a lot of people before failing, there’s a high probability that when they fail, they’ll do so explosively.

_Motherfucker, _Hood thinks, already itching to get his fists on the shitbag who’s skimming a profit and passing these ticking timebombs along to the underworld instead of bagging and tagging them to be reworked or destroyed per factory procedure.

He reassembles the weapon and then heads out at the sound of approaching sirens, making sure to give the gang member another good stomp or three as he walks by. _Asshole. At least the cops will put this trash away for a long time. Even in fuckin’ _Gotham, _murder one will get him twenty years, easy._

Hood grapples up and lands on the rooftop in a run. He crosses the gap to the next building and then drops down into an alley a couple blocks away from all the activity. Evidence secured, he straddles his motorcycle, revs the engine and then roars out into the street and away.

He’s pissed that he doesn’t have the sense of satisfaction he usually would after tracking down a murderer and closing a case like this one. Normally sending a guy like Tony Sabatino down for all the fucked-up shit he’s done over the years working as a mob enforcer would feel _damn _good. Getting trash like that off the streets isn’t easy, especially with a powerful mafia family greasing the wheels.

Accumulating enough evidence to put the bastard away for good without any loopholes for the mob’s slimy, expensive lawyers to exploit is a hell of a lot harder than just putting a fucking bullet in the asshole’s skull, but Hood’s _trying, _okay? He’s turning over a new leaf, rubber bullets and everything. Not that it’s _easy _exactly to hold back from enacting his own brand of justice on all the scum he encounters, but he’s giving it his best shot.

It sure as _hell_ doesn’t help that someone’s decided trying to flood the market with substandard semi-automatics is a great idea.

And the name he got from Sabatino before he put him down… Well, it’s familiar. He makes a face, but this isn’t something he can keep on the down-low. If he wants to maintain the recent good relations with the rest of the Bats, he’s got to play nice when cases and perps overlap.

_Fuck. This ain’t something I can just take care of on my own._

“Hood to Nightwing. You still working that embezzlement and real estate fraud case that crossed over from the ‘Haven?” He deftly navigates the tight turns through the narrow, twisting alleys in the heart of the Bowery, letting himself be seen while he makes his way north toward Sheldon Park and the bridge that will take him to Wayne Manor.

The rest of patrol’s a wash. He needs to check out what’s left of the serial numbers on these guns and see about tracking them back to find out who made them. From there, he should be able to get a bead on who’s selling them on. And as much as he hates to admit it, the Cave has the best equipment.

“Nightwing here, with Robin. Yeah, I am, and that case seems to be connected to an adulterated illicit drug shipment Red Robin just confiscated down at the docks. Why, you got something for us?”

_Fuck. Of fuckin’ _course _there’s goddamn _drugs_ involved in this, too… Gotta keep it together, though. Not worth losing my head when it’ll cost me all the progress I’ve made earning back their trust._

He bites off a curse and forces himself to answer instead of asking about the drugs or offering to go help Little Red knock some dealer shitheads around a bit. “I got three fuckin’ defective semi-automatic rifles, possibly part of a larger shipment that already got through. Fuck knows how many more are out there or where they’re smuggling them in from. Already distributed widely enough that I confiscated one from a Triad gangster, another from a cartel douchebag. Got a name outta the Sabatino enforcer I just took the third off, and I’ll give you three guesses who.”

Red Robin’s voice answers clearly over the comms, sounding resigned and tired. “Richard Patterson?”

_Well, give the boy a prize. Always knew they called him the brainy one for a goddamn reason._

“Yeah.”

Nightwing chimes in again, Robin snarling in the background about conniving idiots muscling in on _their _cases. “Well, it sounds like _all_ our cases are colliding tonight. Wanna team up?”

Swallowing his knowledge of what a fucking _terrible _idea this is, considering his current tenuous position with the Bats and the ideological differences they’ll _never _be able to reconcile, Hood grunts an agreement. Red Robin quietly accepts the offer a moment later.

_Fuck. Guess I’ll just hafta man up and deal with having all the bats and birdies in my business for a few days. This case seems fuckin’ _designed _to make me lose my shit, though. I can’t answer for what I’ll do if I find out these dickwads have been pushing those tainted drugs to _kids.

He makes it to the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge and opens the throttle. The motorcycle roars across the empty stretch of road and he revels in the feel of the brisk wind and the view out over the open expanse of water below and the dark, cloudy sky above. The momentary lull in conversation is broken by Oracle’s voice. “Guys, I finally have a potential in for Patterson, but you’re not going to like it.”

Hood waits for her to continue, quickly mentally reviewing what he remembers about Richard Patterson from half-listening to the other Bats’ chatter about the case over the comms and reading the nightly reports. Patterson’s a corrupt corporate executive, neck-deep in real estate scams in both Gotham and Blüdhaven, and almost certainly embezzling from his own company to boot.

Now they’ve got intel linking him to drug trafficking and weapons smuggling as well, because apparently the dirty fucker’s gotta dip his nasty fingers into every filthy pie this hellhole of a city has to offer. And on top of all _that, _he’s got a seat on the Gotham City Council and has more than a few judges and police officers in his pocket.

The hell of it is finding enough evidence to fucking _prove _wrongdoing. The company records and hard copy books at his office are squeaky clean. Nightwing couldn’t find anything in the man’s home either. Even Oracle’s powerful data mining has come up empty so far.

“I think we’ll like pretty much _anything _that helps us keep those drugs and guns off the street,” Nightwing says, because somehow, he’s still an eternal optimist. “Not to mention putting a stop to the real estate fraud, predatory lending, and those shady tenements he’s pushing to build on the abandoned lots down by the harbor.”

Now _that’s _news. “Wait, the place where everything was condemned due to fuckin’ subsidence? Goddamn greedy _asshole.”_

Of fuckin’ _course _some rich bastard wouldn’t care about exposing the poor and desperate to increased risks of flooding and having their cheaply built flimsy-ass homes slowly sink into the goddamn _ocean._

“We gotta take this fucker down,” he growls.

“Well, congratulations. I think what I have in mind will enable us to pull that off.” Oracle’s not using the synthesizer, so he can _hear _the smirk in her voice.

“What’s the deal, O?” Hood doesn’t have time for banter. People are in danger _now _and they need that intel. Patterson’s the key to the whole damn thing. The sooner they bring him in, the better for everyone.

“Well, it seems the perp’s got a bit of a _reputation_. He likes strippers, apparently well enough to approach those he favors without the accompaniment of any of his bodyguards. He usually brings at least one bodyguard _everywhere,_ up to and including the restroom, so this could be our best chance to plant listening devices and trackers on his body without exponentially complicating the process by having to do so under the watchful eyes of trained security staff.”

Hood involuntarily pictures some unfortunate bodyguard standing awkwardly by with eyes averted while Patterson noisily answers a call of nature, and winces. _Ugh, there’s no fuckin’ _way _he pays those poor bastards enough for that shit._

“Why do I feel like this is going to end with me in stilettos and a wig sitting on the perv’s lap?” Red Robin mutters, obviously resentful of the fact he’s the only one of the Bat boys who can still easily pass as a woman.

With Black Bat out of town and Batgirl pulling light duty for a few more weeks recovering from a broken arm, Timmy winding up in a dress _is _looking pretty much inevitable at this point.

Dickie might do in a pinch, but there’s no need to go to all the trouble when they’ve got Tim right there, small and slender and oh-so-pretty. Hood pictures it and briefly goes slightly cross-eyed, drifting over to the shoulder before he catches himself and rights the motorcycle just in time to turn into the secret entrance, already obligingly opening for him.

_Thanks, Alfie. But _fuck, _I gotta get a handle on this shit. Damn, the human mind is fucking annoying. Can’t be thinking about Timmy like that, not when there’s no fuckin’ way he’d ever be interested. Not with our history. I got no right to want him._

Hood shakes his head, finally pulling into the Cave and hefting the guns to bring them over to the Batcomputer for analysis. He dumps his helmet and sits down before accepting a cup of perfectly prepared tea from the stoic butler who approaches with impeccable timing. “Thanks, Alfie!”

Oracle’s voice speaks up again, this time from the Batcomputer. “Actually, _no one_ has to go undercover as a woman this time.”

He can hear the predatory grin in her voice and it’s worrying. Babs is one scary woman when she wants to be.

“I still need to conduct additional research to nail down the target’s exact preferences regarding body type, hair color and so on, but one thing we _do_ know is that he _definitely_ prefers men. So limber up and practice those routines, boys. We need to be ready to get one of you in place at a moment’s notice as soon as I find out which one of you best fits his type.” She sounds way the hell too amused about all this, probably because she’s planning to get footage of _all _of it for future blackmail and entertainment purposes.

“…Fuck,” Red Hood mutters as he turns back to the weapons he needs to examine and process. It’s been a _long_ damn time since he last went undercover as a stripper. Not that _he’s _likely to be anyone’s type. Who the hell wants a big, mean, scarred-up son-of-a-bitch like him?

_Well, fuck it. Guess I’m going to have to get some dancing practice in, just in case._

* * *

Tim steps out of the shower feeling warm and relaxed, the pounding of the hot water having successfully melted away most of the minor aches and tension that always build up during a good patrol. Stretching, he yawns as he reaches to grab the fluffy red towel and then uses it to scrub vigorously at his hair.

He drapes it over his shoulders, glancing idly down at himself before doing a double take.

_What the hell? Oh, no. Oh no no no_…

His frantic mental denial doesn’t change the truth of the situation, no matter how desperately he wishes he could undo what has happened. It’s still right there, staring him in the face.

Jason’s soulmark isn’t displayed on his right shoulder where it was when it first appeared almost six months ago, in firmly platonic territory.

It isn’t even poised on the cusp between platonic and romantic, just outside an imaginary circle drawn around his heart defined by a diameter measured by the space between his nipples. That’s where it was last time Tim bothered to remove the semi-permanent soulmark cover-up to allow his skin to breathe for a while, and that’s where he’d _thought _the mark was going to stay. Apparently, it wasn’t done migrating just yet.

No, Jason’s soulmark is now decidedly in romantic soulmate territory, definitely well within the space around his heart everyone knows is reserved only for romantic soulmarks.

_Oh my god_…

He shakes his head in futile denial, but if there’s one thing he knows all too well, it’s that soulmarks can’t be predicted or controlled. God knows he’s tried, and _failed,_ enough times to prove that.

Tim looks over at his reflection in the mirror, tracing over the old soulmarks belonging to Jack and Janet Drake. His mother’s sleek, stunning dragon is still coiled possessively around his father’s beautifully decorated little Grecian funerary urn, but they’ve moved even further down his body than last time he looked. They used to be on his shoulders, back when his parents were the center of his world. Now they’ve shifted to his ribs and may well continue their slow progress drifting toward his back. Soon, he won’t be able to see them at all.

It’s fitting, considering their position in his life now compared to when he was a child. They’re still important, but less than they once were and falling farther behind into his past with every day that has passed since their deaths.

His traitorous mind wonders for a moment where they would have worn_ his_ soulmark, if he’d ever mattered enough to either of them to leave his own mark on their hearts and skin.

_…Probably the heel,_ he thinks with a wry half-smile. _They always did consider me something of a liability._

Damian’s fledgling hawk is below and slightly behind Dick’s cheerful robin on Tim’s left shoulder, with Alfred’s watchful beaver above them both. Now that Jason’s soulmark has moved, Bruce’s grim, permanently unbalanced scale of justice looms more noticeably on Tim’s right shoulder. The injustice of his parents’ deaths, seared into his very soul. He suspects the tipped scales are a sign that deep down, the man _knows_ his mission of bringing every criminal to justice is not achievable. The fact that he carries on regardless… Well, B was never one to give up just because something’s impossible.

The graceful swan belonging to Cass seems to have begun drifting over to fill the space Jason has left empty beside Bruce’s again. Her soulmark had actually shifted slightly to make room when Jason’s appeared. His sister’s accommodating, kind and considerate nature comes through even in her soulmark, it would seem. He wonders when she’ll be in Gotham again and feels a stab of loneliness, missing her.

His lips twitch in a faint but genuine smile as he notices there are even fewer little spatters of blood marking the swan than the last time he looked. The evidence of Cass’s continued healing from her stained past fills him with a quick surge of happiness for her sake.

The Titans’ soulmarks twine together beautifully around his upper left arm. Only a step away from family, they mirror Babs’ owl and Steph’s vicious-looking goose on his other arm. Tim huffs a little laugh as he looks at his ex-girlfriend’s mark, remembering how desperately he’d wished during their time together that her mark would make the journey Jason’s has just accomplished so seemingly effortlessly.

The goose always remained stubbornly in platonic territory, and when she’d died, he had guiltily thought it might be better that he wasn’t wearing her mark on his heart. He still wonders if the real reason she broke up with him was because he’d never been able to inspire his own soulmark on her.

If he hadn’t been forced to hide the truth of his identity from her back then, could they have made it work? He blinks away thoughts of what might have been, scattering useless reflections to focus on what _is _instead.

_Whatever, at least we’ve managed to salvage a friendship out of the wreck of our failed romantic relationship._

He stares at the colorful tapestry on his skin for a long while, thinking over the complex biological mechanisms behind soulmark activation and wondering for the hundredth time where the particular failure is that caused his situation. Of course, he’s pretty sure he’s always known the answer. It’s just _him._

Marks appear only after a person develops true, deep love for another and is influenced by them on a profound level. Numerous studies demonstrate the circumstances surrounding the actual manifestation of the marks, which are triggered by the production and reception of extremely complex, specific pheromones tailored to the individuals in question. There are documented instances of people instantaneously forming marks the first time they met in person, but such cases _always _occur following a long correspondence during which they grew to love and influence one another.

Of course, the marks aren’t necessarily reciprocal. Tim resists the urge to scratch at his. If only one person loves and is influenced by another, then only the affected person develops the other’s mark.

He’s _very_ familiar with the science behind _that_ particularly depressing little phenomenon. His interest is unsurprising, considering every single one of his marks falls into that category.

_It’s not that I’m ungrateful for what I have. So many people I’ve had a chance to love, each of whom touched my life in so many different and profound ways._

He runs his fingers over the Titans’ soulmarks fondly, Kon’s gorgeous Kryptonian ice-bird stretching its crystalline wings protectively over Bart’s peregrine falcon. Cassie’s griffin crouches in front of them as though ready to launch forward at a moment’s notice.

_And it’s definitely not fair of me to sulk when so many of my friends are literally biologically incapable of developing soulmarks. Kon can’t due to his alien heritage, Cassie because she’s Amazonian, Bart because he’s from a future which has evolved beyond soulmarks_…

Tim’s so grateful to bear their marks on his skin because _his _biology feels the need to commemorate their incredible friendship with some pretty sweet tattoos.

_I think, maybe… they’d have my soulmark, if they could. At least, I _hope _they would._

He smiles, but it quickly fades.

_I wonder what my soulmark would look like? You know, if anyone ever cared about me enough to have it._

Everyone else’s marks on his skin always seems so obvious and fitting once they appear. Not only are they representative in some way of the person to whom they belong, they also slowly change. Positioning adjusts to reflect changing relationships, as he’s seen. Even the actual appearance of the marks can evolve, sometimes drastically, based on events in the life of the person to whom it belongs. The slowly brightening feathers on Cass’s swan reflect the challenges she has overcome and who she is now. Damian’s soulmark has changed dramatically over the years, from a tightly coiled viper to a proud bird of prey, showing his growth into his own person after he cast aside the brutal teachings of his childhood.

Sometimes Tim wonders what Bruce’s used to be, back before he gave everything over to the Mission. Alfred is the only one who might know and of course he’d never mention it. Those whose soulmarks have changed from the animals everyone has at birth… Well, a soulmark appearing as an inanimate object or symbol is usually a reflection of an unusually focused dedication to a single purpose or aspiration, all else falling by the wayside.

_It makes me wonder if _mine _would be something like that. Have I really given up on myself to the point that my dreams are fixed instead of changing and evolving?_

He doesn’t truly want to think about the answer to that question. Actually, considering his mom still had her dragon right up until the very end despite being one of the most driven people he’s ever known, maybe there _is _still hope for him. Yeah, he’ll go with that.

The soulmarks on his skin are all beautiful and so apt for the people to whom they belong. Jason’s in particular is gorgeous, a bright red and orange phoenix in flight. All of the other former Robins have birds as their soulmarks, but to him, Jason’s is by far the loveliest.

At the moment, the phoenix currently adorning his skin looks as though it’s flying toward his heart. Heck, it’s almost there _already. _It’s incredibly vivid and breathtakingly beautiful, and the sight_ terrifies_ him.

He’s never had a romantic soulmark before, and he has a feeling _this_ mark remaining unreciprocated is going to be a whole new level of hurt compared to all the platonic soulmarks he’s used to wearing. Tim timidly wonders what _his _mark might have looked like, hovering over Jason’s heart. Then he bites his lip, flushing in shame and quashing the stupid thought.

_Mine probably would’ve been something dumb and boring anyway._

_But_…

_I still wish I could see it on someone else, just once, and know my being here really made a difference. That _I _mattered, me, _Tim _and not Red Robin, to at least one person._

Tim shakes his head and briskly scrubs the towel over his face to get rid of all the drops of water he feels running down his cheeks. He must not have dried off properly, that’s all. He reaches for the soulmark cover-up, ready to hide away the reminders of his inadequacy and the aching questions they raise in his heart.

_Time to get back to work._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Red Hood, waving a bunch of guns around: ** “Look guys I found some illegal guns”  
**Oracle: ** “Cool cool, okay now we have to send someone undercover as a stripper”  
**Red Hood, confused: ** “The fuck, that doesn’t even make any sense—”  
**Dick, gleeful: ** “Little Wing, it’s time to shake your little thing!” *Dodges as Jason throws one of the guns at him*  
**Tim, wandering off to stare sadly at his innumerable unreciprocated soulmarks: ** “If only I were worthy of love” *Sniffles. Checks himself out some more, shrugs philosophically* “At least I have some sweet tats”


	2. Chapter 2

“Um, guys…?” Tim blinks, then stares at the screens of Oracle’s computer bank which are all displaying lurid imagery of writhing, scantily clad male bodies. The stage lighting, highly sexualized dance moves, and abundant body glitter distract him for a moment before he shakes his head and focuses. “I thought you were conducting _research?”_

_I came over here today hoping for a distraction from the fact that based on what went down last night on patrol, I’ll almost _certainly_ be going undercover as a stripper pretty soon… Which means I’ll be stressing and anxious the whole time, wondering if my soulmark cover-up is somehow going to come off and show _everyone _exactly how pathetic I am. Ugh, not to mention the idea of _that guy _with his sweaty hands all over me, ew._

He shakes his head, trying to clear away the very unwelcome mental images that thought brings.

_Well, I also wanted an excuse to get out of the pole dancing refresher Dick invited me to participate in at the Manor this afternoon. Knowing him, he’ll make me strip down to better grip the pole, and that’s just _another _chance for the cover-up to fail._

Babs rolls her eyes at him, not actually turning away from where her attention is fixed intently on the screens. “This _is _research,” she informs him loftily as she very professionally reaches into the bowl of popcorn on Steph’s lap to grab another massive handful. “We have to go through _hours _of footage to build an appropriate profile of the target’s preferred physical type, after all.” She smirks.

_Uh-huh, _sure _you do. This absolutely isn’t just a flimsy excuse to watch beautiful people dancing around naked. Right…_

“Check it out! I think that’s our guy!” Steph elbows Tim in the gut, hard, to get his attention.

_Ow, Steph! Why are you so naturally violent?_

He edges away from her and looks up at the screen where an older man flanked by what are almost certainly bodyguards has moved into the field of view. That’s definitely the target, but… He seems to just be watching the stage. It’s difficult to read whether he has more interest in one dancer than another. Tim frowns. “I thought we were expecting him to get _close_ to the performers? Isn’t that the entire point of sending someone undercover?”

Babs nods, brow furrowing. “That’s the expectation, yes. The trouble is, I only have circumstantial evidence of his assignations. He generally goes to a private room and sends for a dancer by making the request through a hostess or floor manager. The type of club he frequents doesn’t keep records of which guest requests private showings with whom, so I’m actually attempting to construct a profile of his preferences based on a process of elimination to determine which dancers are missing from the main floor during the times Patterson is in the back.”

Tim tilts his head. That seems way more involved than he was expecting, honestly. “There’s no footage of him leaving and then a particular dancer disappearing immediately thereafter?”

“Not so far,” Steph shrugs, then grins. “But Babs and I are _totally _willing to take one for the team and watch as many hours of this footage as we have to. It’s a hardship…” She trails off, practically _drooling_ as a female stripper on the stage completes an impressive undulation of her abdomen while twisting slowly down the pole.

“…Right.” The girls are totally focused on the screens again, glazed looks crossing over their flushed faces, so Tim backs slowly away.

_Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting anything from this lead in the immediate future. Tonight, I’ll go plant some more cameras at the dock where I intercepted that drug shipment last night and then do a quick check of the rest of the docks, just in case they changed locations._

The girls seem to have everything in hand right now with investigating Patterson’s prurient habits, so Tim has to reluctantly admit he isn’t needed here.

Which means… _Ugh._

“Hey Birdboy, shouldn’t you be at the Cave practicing your moves with the other boys?” The look Babs gives him is both amused and oddly sympathetic. He remembers with a flash of understanding the many times Batgirl had to go undercover in similarly uncomfortable circumstances for the greater good.

It doesn’t really make it any easier, but it’s nice to know he’s not alone.

_Welp, at least there’s a _chance _I won’t be the one having to give the old creep a lap dance. Maybe it’ll turn out he’s really into acrobats. Or assholes. _Tim grins.

Although it’s still pretty likely he’ll end up in the undercover role. Eh, whatever. If the lech tries to take things too far, Tim can always choke him out with his thighs and then let Red Hood beat him into a confession when he wakes up.

Plan made, he squares his shoulders and prepares to face the rest of his day.

_At least Jason probably won’t be there. I bet he’d rather gnaw his own arm off than spend an afternoon pole dancing in the Cave._

* * *

“Of _course _I’m happy to help you with your pole dancing moves, Little Wing!” Dick’s grinning face and ebullient energy as he bounces toward him are already overwhelming and Jason instinctively begins backing toward the Cave exit.

He hasn’t been to bed yet after having returned to the Cave to research the guns he confiscated on patrol last night. He’d gotten carried away tracing the leads provided by the partial serial numbers he found on the defective weapons.

The invitation to practice sexy dance moves just in case _he’s _the one who ends up grinding down on the dipshit perp’s limp dick is pretty much the exact opposite of appealing…

But he needs the practice. Last time he went undercover as a dancer, he was over a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter. The way he’ll have to move his body on the pole now will be completely different.

His brother’s iron grip on his arm tugs him in the direction of the workout mats, foiling his half-assed escape attempt.

_I already know I’m gonna fuckin’ regret this._

Dick is chattering on as he gets out several removable poles and sets them up, locking them into place before carefully checking them for safety. He then casually strips down to a fucking _tiny _pair of Superman boxer-briefs and stretches for a minute as Jason blinks at him in shock. Seemingly unaware of his brother’s horror at his current state of undress, he effortlessly climbs the pole, muscles bunching and flexing beneath a _lot _of exposed skin while Jason slowly turns bright red.

“What the _fuck, _Dickhead?” he manages after a moment. “Is there a reason you gotta be practically _naked, _or are you just getting into character already?”

The older man laughs as he begins a slow, sensual descent, stretching and warming up as he grips the pole tightly between his legs and gradually corkscrews down. “Jay, has it really been _that _long since you did this? You know a dancer needs exposed skin on their arms and legs and preferably belly as well to safely provide enough friction to hold onto the pole.”

And… Jason _did _know that. He just hasn’t thought about it in a hell of a long time. And the idea of putting himself out there like that, openly providing others a look at what he has to offer… It turns his stomach.

Sure, he’d spackle himself in cover-up to hide the nightmarish landscape of scars that is his body these days, but _he’d _still know. The thought of stripping down and basically _offering _while feeling that _exposed—_fuck, he might just end up having a goddamn panic attack onstage.

“Little Wing?” Dick’s concerned voice rises from much closer than he expected and he jerks his head back, startled. His big brother’s right in front of him, looking way the hell too damn gentle and caring. “Hey, you know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, right?” He smiles encouragingly, the damn sappy idiot.

Jason manages to get his harsh breathing under control, cursing the improved relationships with his family that have apparently built his trust levels to the point that he’s relaxed enough in Dickie’s presence to show the true depth of some of his issues.

_I didn’t want any of them to know what a goddamn basket case I am, but there ya go. Don’t know why the hell I thought I’d_ _ever get what I want._

“I’m fine,” he growls, ignoring the sympathetic look on the other’s face and turning away to head over to the lockers. He’s got cover-up on the important things already. If the other Bats get an eyeful of his scars and it upsets them, well, fuck ‘em. “I ain’t strippin’ down to my damn underwear, though.”

“As long as you have enough exposed skin to grip the pole.” Dick lets it go, bless his stupidly big heart, and Jason gets changed into the obscenely form-fitting biking shorts Steph gave him a while ago as a gag gift that he tossed in his locker and promptly forgot about. They’re eggplant-colored, of course, and they make his package look like an actual goddamn eggplant. His lips twitch as he eyes the effect, slowly raising a single eyebrow.

_Damn, that’s some kinky shit. I wonder if Batgirl had _that _in mind when she gave me these?_

He shakes his head, shrugging it off. Squaring his shoulders, he moves back over to the poles. At least it’ll be a damn good workout. Pole dancing is great for cardio, resistance training, and flexibility. He works himself through some careful stretches and then huffs a reluctant chuckle as he watches his older brother turn upside down and practically fold himself in half backwards while grasping the pole with only one hand. And possibly his ass-cheeks, Jason honest to god wouldn’t be surprised if the acrobat actually has enough muscle control for that.

_Showoff, _he thinks fondly before taking a deep breath and beginning to climb his own pole.

It’s probably been about half an hour of going over basic moves with Dick spotting him and leading him carefully through performing the movements safely when the sound of voices approaching breaks their concentration.

The first thing Jason sees when he looks up is Tim storming toward them, a furious flush on his face which he’s annoyed to realize he finds almost offensively cute.

_Why can’t you make this easier on me, huh? It would be so much easier not to want you if you weren’t so damn adorable._

Damian’s trailing after him, wearing a wide grin of evil satisfaction. “It appears Drake has soiled himself with excitement. Disgusting, Drake!” The little brat smiles even wider, a slightly disturbing expression to anyone who knows the little shit.

_Wait, _what _did he say…?_

He finds his gaze inexorably drawn to his replacement’s crotch, which… yeah, is _not _somewhere he should be looking, but holy _shit, _it really _does _look like Little Red pissed his pants. He meets Dick’s baffled, slightly horrified gaze and sees the other man is trying to muffle laughter, and failing pretty badly.

“Damn it, Damian, how many times do I have to tell you that’s _coffee?”_ Tim just sounds _done _with life. Jason can empathize. The slim man stalks past the poles, running a hand through his already-tousled hair. “Which I wouldn’t have _spilled _if _you _hadn’t come leaping out at me the moment I came through the door!”

“You must maintain constant vigilance, Drake, lest your blundering inevitably lead to your humiliatingly preventable death in the field!” Demon Brat’s clearly enjoying the hell out of this, and Baby Bird looks like he’s about to explode.

Jason’s entertained by the exchange, but… “You know that’s his way of saying he’s fuckin’ worried about you and he’s just trying his best to look out for you in his own stunted fuckin’ way, right?” For someone as smart as Tim Drake, he sure misses the obvious sometimes when it comes to the kid.

Both of them turn to stare at him, Damian looking indignant and Tim blinking in a startled way like he’s never recognized the brat’s special brand of affection before. Dickie’s grinning, clearly reveling in the interplay between all his crazy little brothers because in their messed-up family this is apparently what passes for bonding.

“I do _not _care what happens to Drake—” The boy sputters, aggravated but blushing faintly in a manner that confirms he does actually give a shit about his older brother.

_Y’know, he’s kinda cute when he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s a real boy underneath all the sass._

Tim stares at the kid a moment longer and then smirks faintly. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Brat, but next time wait until I put my coffee down before jumping into my arms for a hug.” His smirk sharpens and widens triumphantly at Damian’s outraged squawk.

It takes both Jason and Dick to hold the little demon child back from attacking Tim. “It was not a _hug!” _he howls furiously once he’s given up on trying to escape their grasp to pounce on the older boy.

“Sure, it wasn’t, kiddo,” Jason says comfortingly, grinning like a bastard but relinquishing his grip so their older brother can wrangle Baby Bat on his own. He’s dimly aware of their ongoing back-and-forth chatter but tunes it out, shaking his head and biting back a stupidly fond smile.

_These guys are all such total dorks. I don’t even know why the hell I hang out with them._

He watches the movement of Tim’s slim hips as the younger man walks off toward the lockers to change, blinking back to awareness after what was probably just a tad too long. The realization that he’s about to spend the next few hours watching that gorgeous, tight little body twisting around a pole while wearing next to nothing crashes through his mind and he swallows, throat suddenly very tight.

_Oh, fuck. This was a _bad _idea._

Jason thinks about what _else _might be feeling very tight in another few minutes, and wonders desperately if picturing Batman in a scanty negligee drunkenly coming on to a puzzled but interested Hush will be enough to keep him from embarrassing himself unbearably in front of everyone.

_Hey, it’s not _my _fault Timmy grew up really pretty…_

Now is _not _the time for noticing once again his replacement’s all grown up and hot as fuck. Tim stalks back out dressed in just a pair of snug little black briefs, all his beautiful, sleekly defined musculature on display as he gracefully arches into a stretch.

“Close your mouth. You look like you’re about to start _drooling,” _Dick whispers loudly, shocking Jason into a furious flush.

He turns to face him angrily, an automatic denial on his lips, and his brother just shrugs with a little smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Okay, okay, I won’t say anything else. Just… You’ve been doing really well, Jay. I’m proud of you. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him for a while now, and I know you wouldn’t hurt him if you guys decided to… Well. You’re both adults who can make your own choices.” He clears his throat while Jason just stares at him in horror.

_Did Dickie just imply that he’s _okay_ with the idea of me and Tim being a thing? Wait, how the fuck have I been looking at him, and why didn’t _I _notice it?_

“And if you need to talk about _anything,_ you know you can come to me, right, Little Wing?” Dick winks, then mounts the pole again with a complicated cartwheel and completely unnecessary flip.

_…Fuckin’ showoff._

Well, he can deal with whatever the fuck that was about later. Right now… Jason narrows his eyes, a flood of not particularly pleasant memories filling his mind and reminding him of how fucking _impossible _it is to compete with the Golden Boy. As he watches, Dick catches his eye and grins, then somehow somersaults head over heels down the pole in a goofy and completely unsexy manner, maintaining eye contact with Jason the whole time.

“What the fuck, Dickie?” He’s laughing now in spite of himself.

Dick lands flat on his back on the mat and just stays there, relaxing in a comfortable sprawl. “Just trying to cheer you up. You were glowering so bad you almost looked like _Bruce _for a minute there.”

“Take that back! I _never _look like the old man!” Jason feels his face twisting and wonders if he’s glowering right now. Probably. He tries to smooth it out and then stops, frowning again at his brother’s growing grin of amusement. “Shut up, you’re a goddamn instigator.”

“If you are _quite _finished, I am ready to begin.” Both of them slowly turn at the unexpected sound of the brat’s voice, their eyes widening as they take in the sight before them. Damian’s standing in front of the poles wearing just his loose gray exercise shorts, arms folded across his small chest in an attempt to hide his nerves.

_What the fuck?_

“No,” Jason growls. “I don’t give a _shit _about the greater good. If it turns out that piece of _shit _is into _kids_—_”_

He has to stop talking because if he keeps going, he _will_ have to hit something, and there’s no one here he wants to risk punching. His heart is hammering furiously in his chest at even the _idea _of his baby brother being put in that position, being _touched_—

Dick’s on his feet, eyebrows climbing to the ceiling as he directs his full attention at their youngest sibling. “Whoa whoa _whoa, _Dami, where’d you get the idea _you _were going to have to learn pole dancing?”

Tim silently straightens, watching the unfolding scene with concern evident in his clear blue eyes.

The kid rolls his eyes. “Todd, you _imbecile, _of course I know I am too young to participate in the actual undercover portion of the case! I merely meant to take advantage of your training today to begin _learning. _After all, Drake is getting older and will not be able to captivate male attention with his pallid, undergrown form forever. His appearance grows more haggard by the day.”

Jason makes the mistake of glancing over at Tim and then snorts in laughter at the pissed-off, offended expression on his face.

_Fuck, the kid sure knows how to break the tension._

“Yeah, Timmy, you _are_ getting up there now, aren’t you?” He’s a natural troll; he can’t help it.

The younger man looks at him like he’s gone insane. “Jason, you are _older _than me. If _I’m _over the hill, what are _you?”_ He freezes, eyes widening as the obvious answer occurs to him, and then begins to shake his head in a vain attempt to stop what’s about to happen. “No. Jason, _no_—”

He grins in delight. “One foot in the grave, obviously!” Jason laughs at their collective groaning. He can’t stop, won’t stop, will _never _stop making jokes about his death. Might as well get _some _enjoyment out of it.

Dick rolls his eyes and then claps his hands together. “Alright, enough of _that. _Let’s get back to the refresher. I don’t want anyone getting hurt out there because we’ve let ourselves get a little rusty on our pole dancing skills. Dami, let me set you up with some beginner exercises. Jay, could you spot Tim through the same routine I went over with you earlier?” Dick turns to help Damian, all matter of fact professional demeanor.

If it weren’t for the quick _wink _the fucker gives Jason, he’d be fooled.

_That asshole set me up, _he thinks incredulously. _I’m gonna have to stand here in my goddamn underpants with my hands all over Tim in _his _goddamn underpants and somehow keep my unwanted attraction to myself._

Okay, he’s got this. Steeling himself, he pictures B in lingerie. He’ll bring in Hush as a last resort. No hard-on could survive double Bruce-face.

_There we go, _he thinks, relieved. _Instant boner-killer. I think it’s all the body hair, although the fuckin’ Bat-glare is pretty damn bad too._

Tim turns to him with a quick, shy smile before rapidly climbing the pole, waiting for Jason to position himself under him. “Like this?” he asks, arching his back, gripping the pole tightly between his shapely little thighs and beginning a slow, grinding descent. Jason did not realize until this moment it was possible to be so jealous of a fuckin’ _pole._

_Oh fuck, I’m gonna die again. Of embarrassment or blue balls, just take your fuckin’ pick._

“Yeah, Baby Bird,” he says, almost not recognizing his voice for how throaty and deep it sounds right now. “Just like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, eyeing Steph and Babs suspiciously: ** “Are you SURE you’re working right now?” *Winces at loud moan from direction of screen, followed by distinctive squelching sounds*  
**Steph, flushed and slightly sweaty: ** “YES, now get out! We need privacy. To… work.” *Continues watching porn as Tim flees*  
*  
**Jason, trying to remember how to pole dance: ** “This is like riding a bicycle, right?” *Attempts to climb pole, accidentally twists it into a pretzel with his thick, strong thighs*  
**Dick, making acrobatic love to his pole: ** “Good try, Jaybird! Next time, less thrust and more grind!”  
**Tim, unexpectedly walking in just in time to see and hear all that: ** “Oh god” *Sways slightly as all the blood in his body rushes south*  
**Damian, scoffing: ** “Drake, you must consume more iron! How such a puling weakling as yourself survived past infancy I shall never understand” *Catches Tim as he swoons, looks annoyed about it*  
**Dick, delighted: ** “Here you go, Jay!” *Takes a revived Tim and hands him to a blushing Jason* “I’ll work with Dami. You two work together, I wanna see you handling those poles!”  
**Tim and Jason, staring at each other in mortification: ** *Quietly die inside, begin awkwardly handling those poles* “So… this is pretty hard. The dancing! Fuck I meant the dancing, not…” *Both pointedly try to avoid looking at mutual hard-ons, fail*


	3. Chapter 3

“…Dick.” Bruce stares at his eldest, showing no outward reaction to the growing feeling of dismay induced by returning home from his mission with the League only to be greeted by the sight of his oldest child’s new… _attire._

Or rather, his lack thereof. He’s wearing silver, gaudily sequined pants tight enough to have been painted on, paired with knee-high heeled white boots which hug the lines of his muscular calves. While he isn’t actually topless, he might as well be for the amount of gleaming, tautly muscled chest exposed by the extremely deep v of his silver, sequined shirt. The top of what looks unfortunately like a lurid pink thong is visible where the waistband of his pants dips well below his navel and hips, exposing a dark trail of hair Bruce would strongly prefer _never _to have seen.

The high, popped collar on his shirt is giving Bruce horrible flashbacks to the old Discowing costume. He’s still half-convinced his hotheaded son wore that abomination specifically to spite him, because _how _could he possibly have thought that _monstrosity _was actually acceptable attire to _fight crime _in?

Hopefully this is simply a disguise and not another fashion nightmare phase. Dick has always been his most _unique_ child when it comes to his sartorial choices.

_If I have to be seen in public with him dressed like _that, _I am going to speak to him solely as Brucie for at least a _month _in retribution. Fair is fair, after all._

“Hey, B!” Dick turns to him with a bright smile, revealing a carefully made-up face. Skillful contouring has been performed, as well as subtle alteration of eyebrow shape and thickness resulting in an overall appearance which bears only a passing resemblance to Dick Grayson. The dark contacts and blond hair definitely add to the effectiveness of the disguise, while the copious body glitter plus large expanse of exposed flesh will probably serve to deflect attention away from the face.

It _has_ to be a disguise… right?

“Is this for a case?” He attempts to pose the question in as neutral a manner as possible so as not to cause undue distress should this simply be something new his child is trying.

Like that time he’d accidentally insulted the horrible haircut Dick sported briefly in his teens. The boy had been hurt by his ill-considered words and had kept the awful hair until someone with more tact thankfully managed to convince him that mullets are _never _the answer to any of life’s questions.

Not for the first time, he thanks god for Alfred.

Dick’s eyes widen and for a horrible moment Bruce thinks he’s mortally offended his child by insulting his new look. Then he starts laughing. “Of _course_ it is, B. What, did you think I make a habit of wearing this kind of thing around the house?”

He ignores the question and makes his way over to the Batcomputer to avoid having to admit that yes, the possibility did cross his mind. Besides, he needs to catch up on reports and review what’s been going on in his absence.

What he finds, though…

It’s concerning. The case itself is no more convoluted and challenging than many which he and his associates have solved over the years, but the _methods _they are planning to employ…

Occasionally in their work, it has been necessary for one of his children to briefly pose as an escort or perform as an exotic dancer, but those instances _always _involved immediate backup and a strict policy of absolutely no private interactions and _no _touching.

This plan calls for more. Someone will have to be alone with the target, possibly for an extended period of time. Even worse, they must allow the man close enough that the bodily contact necessary to plant various listening and recording devices will not be taken amiss.

That is a potentially significant amount of unwanted, sexually charged physical contact. Which is most certainly _not _something he has ever asked of any of them before at any juncture. He stares at the screen, brow furrowed in disquiet.

_Why do they expect this of themselves? Have I led them to believe this is acceptable or worse, _necessary?

Even as the question passes through his mind, the affirmative answer weighs his heart down like a stone. In his zealous pursuit of an endless, Sisyphean mission, he has imbued his children with the conviction that they and their desires, their very bodily autonomy_,_ are secondary to his perceived expectations.

_And if Dick is so willing to sacrifice himself like this now… How many times might he have done so before? And just how far has he forced himself to go, in the name of my Mission?_

“You intend to go undercover as a sex worker?” The keyboard makes an ominous creaking noise and he quickly reduces the strength of his grip.

_I know he can handle himself. He’s trained and fully capable. But the idea of him engaging in potentially repellent activities for the sake of the Mission_…_ for _me…

“As a stripper, no sex involved.” Dick proceeds to give him a quick rundown of the case as it stands, adding a few details which have not yet been recorded in the reports. Afterwards, he heads over to the locker rooms, humming.

Bruce studies the nightly reports again and broods about the upcoming mission until sometime later when sounds of laughter and banter draw his attention away from the screens. Dick grins at him as he and his brothers emerge from the locker area. He can only stare at them, feeling like his breath has been punched out.

Apparently, Dick wasn’t simply changing into normal clothing as he had expected. Instead, it appears he was helping the other boys work on _their _costumes.

Jason looks belligerent and supremely uncomfortable in a pair of obscenely tight black leather pants and an open leather jacket. His chest, faintly flushed with what is most likely embarrassment, is completely exposed except for an assortment of strategically placed chains, straps, and buckles. He’s wearing a spiked black collar and Bruce can just glimpse what looks like leather bondage cuffs on his wrists. Always a tall man, he’s a good three inches taller than usual due to the vicious-looking black heels strapped to his feet.

His makeup is much more vivid than Dick’s, with heavy black eyeliner outlining his bright teal eyes, thick mascara emphasizing the length of his lashes, and brilliant crimson drawing attention to his lips. His hair is spiked and frosted, with the characteristic white streak apparently having been dyed for the occasion.

He looks furious_,_ wearing an expression which bodes ill for any hands that attempt to get fresh with him. While Bruce suspects such an action would have a poor outcome on the successful resolution of this case, he can’t help but approve from a fatherly perspective.

_Hn. At least I can count on _Jason_ not to allow this farce to proceed too far. But I do not want _any _of them believing they are of less importance than solving the case expeditiously. We can find a way to do this without compromising them._

As for Tim… He’s wearing dark slacks Bruce strongly suspects to be breakaway, a white dress collar with attached black bowtie, and white cuffs at his wrists. He’s carrying what looks like a tearaway white button-down and dark suit jacket, probably portions of the costume meant to have been removed prior to this stage. The top of a black thong peeks out where the slacks hang scandalously low on the boy’s narrow hips.

He looks so very _small._

Bruce swallows the protectiveness which wells up within him at the sight. _All my children can handle themselves, _he reminds himself.

Of course,_ that’s_ the moment when Damian emerges, sulking. He is dressed in a miniature version of the same costume Tim is wearing, although the child is actually wearing the shirt and suit jacket portions of his outfit.

Bruce sees red. His _thirteen-year-old _is dressed as a _prostitute, _apparently planning to—

His mind balks. _“No.”_

The boys all turn to him, confused. Tim makes the connection first, blinking in confusion while looking back and forth between him and Damian before his eyes widen almost comically in horror. “No. Bruce, _no!_ We are definitely _not _planning to involve Damian in the undercover op. He just wanted to use the opportunity to practice pole dancing, makeup, and costuming with us today. For general training purposes, _not_ for anything… else.” He shakes his head vigorously, seemingly appropriately appalled by the thought.

That does seem reasonable and is certainly in character for what he knows of his youngest son; however…

“Then why is he sulking?”

Damian scowls. “Grayson would not allow me to wear a corset to complete the effect of my originally planned costume!”

“Dami, it’s not good for you!” Dick attempts to remonstrate with his brother.

The child crosses his arms, snapping a scalding glance at his older brothers. _“Drake_ has a corset for his backup costume!”

Jason snorts. “Timmy has a tiny little chest. He didn’t even need to _tighten_ the damn thing because he’s just naturally shaped like a wet dream.” His eyes widen as an expression of consternation crosses his face. “Fuck, I think I actually said that out loud. Whatever, fuck it.” He gives a jaw-cracking yawn. “Damn, between this shit and all that research on those damn guns, I _still _haven’t been to bed yet. Fuck this case sideways with a rusty crowbar. I’m so fuckin’ tired…”

He then turns on his pointy, towering heel and heads back to the lockers, probably intending to change now that they’ve all practiced their costumes. Hopefully he’ll stay at least long enough for a brief rest upstairs before heading out to one of his many safehouses. Bruce is concerned about him attempting to drive in his current state of clear exhaustion.

“Hey! Wait, _what?”_ Tim stares after the older boy, momentarily stunned speechless.

Bruce is… definitely not gone to think about what his second son just implied about his third. He simply doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with _that_ potential can of worms right now on top of everything else. Maybe they’ll work it out for themselves and he won’t have to get involved in what promises to be exactly the type of emotional conversation that usually leaves him floundering with his foot in his mouth while at least one hurt, angry child storms away in distress.

Dick apparently decides to ignore it as well. “That’s right, Dami. To get that effect on _you,_ we would probably have to compress your ribs and that’s a big no no for kids.”

“Then how am I to learn appropriate seduction techniques? You _see _how wretched and haggard Drake looks. He will not last much longer in his role as the Bat most capable of luring oafs to their destruction with his scrawny, undergrown body and over-large eyes!”

_What._

“Hey!” Tim’s rote protest is summarily ignored.

“He will likely be past his prime within the next several years, and I must be ready to take his place as the most conventionally attractive member of the group. You are too recognizable for most undercover work, Todd and Brown too hideous—”

Jason’s voice calls up from the direction of the lockers with an affronted, “Hey, you little _shit!”_

Bruce sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

_And this is actually getting _along,_ for them._

* * *

Red Robin finishes zip-tying the last of the thugs and then stands, frowning at the pallets stacked nearby. Each is loaded down with shipping crates containing additional supplies of the same contaminated illicit drugs that were hidden in the cargo he found and confiscated last night. There’s even more material here than in the first shipment, which is legitimate cause for concern.

Based on the shipping manifest, someone tried to hide the illegal drugs as poorly disguised powdered soap.

_Points for creativity, I guess. Too bad they didn’t find more law-abiding ways to apply their skills. _

He shakes his head. “Red Robin to Nightwing. Scene is secure. I’ve collected samples and questioned those present. They’re just hired grunts working under the table and seem to lack any actual knowledge of what they are moving or for whom. At least I seem to have caught them in time to prevent any distribution.”

_And thank god for that. If these drugs hit the streets… people would definitely get hurt. Maybe die._

Batman’s voice answers, causing him to pause momentarily because it’s been a few weeks since he heard _that _voice in his ear over the comm. “Where were they taking the shipment?”

_I’m glad B’s back early from his Justice League business. It won’t hurt to have one more set of eyes on this case, although I’m not looking forward to any of us having to pole dance with _Matches Malone_ leering at us. Hopefully B doesn’t feel the need to use one of his disguises to move in close during the sting at the club, because ew._

“They had instructions to deliver the crates to multiple warehouses. Based on the list of addresses, most of Gotham’s gangs had a cut. With that kind of distribution, this would have flooded the streets overnight if it had made it through.”

_And I’m sure this isn’t the last shipment scheduled_._ If the intel I managed to gather last night is correct and Patterson is the force behind this influx, he won’t stop just because we’ve made things difficult for him. He’ll do whatever he can to get the drugs into circulation. He _has_ to in order to avoid angering and alienating all the gangs who expect him to deliver what they paid for and make good on his promises._

Actually, Patterson is probably getting close to desperate at the point, between Red Robin’s interception of the drug shipments and Red Hood’s work tracking and confiscating every single defective gun that made it into the city so far.

If the criminal had any idea of Nightwing and Robin’s careful but thorough progress on determining the full extent of his fraudulent business dealings, backed by Oracle’s impeccable digital work, he’d probably outright panic.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Oracle’s synthesized voice interrupts his musings. “Red, you can get out of there now. I have GPD coming in, ETA two minutes. I’ve already communicated the details and the detective on call’s a good one, so none of that evidence will be finding its way back onto the streets.” Always a worry, although things are slowly getting better as they help the commissioner weed out the less honest officers in his employ.

“Acknowledged.” He melts back into the shadows before grappling up to a neighboring warehouse rooftop and then glancing out over the docks. He isn’t expecting further activity around here linked to this particular case tonight, but there’s pretty much always criminal activity happening somewhere in Gotham.

A couple of foiled drug deals and thwarted mugging attempts later, he’s standing on top of the old gothic church on Roosevelt Ave, looking out over the city and the slowly moving waters of the Gotham River beyond. Things are slowing down enough he’s considering calling it a night.

“Hey there, Baby Bird.” Red Hood’s voice startles him, but he manages not to embarrass himself by showing any reaction.

_Guys his size shouldn't be capable of being that quiet. It’s not natural._

He nods as the taller vigilante steps up to his side, helmet tilted to gaze out at the twinkling city lights under the brooding night sky. “Hood. Finished tracking down the last of those weapons?” Hopefully the answer is yes. The last thing they need is that many semi-automatics out there, each liable to literally explode in the faces of the criminals using them.

“Think so.” The big man sighs, removing his helmet to reveal a masked face which looks nearly as tired as Red Robin feels. “Traced the three I snagged last night by what was left of their serial numbers. I managed to follow the trail back to a manufacturer that marked them as bagged, tagged, and ultimately destroyed. Assuming all the culls from that batch were sent here, there shoulda been fifty-five guns total. Since I already confiscated three, that means fifty-two still out on the streets.”

Well, the reasoning isn’t exactly ironclad, but they have to work with what they’ve got. He’s sure Oracle and Batgirl are still pursuing leads to nail down the exact details, if that’s even possible considering how careful the perp has shown himself to be most of the time. Careless filing of the serial numbers on the weapons he’s moving is a mistake that’s definitely going to cost him.

“So how many did you find tonight?” Red Robin seriously doesn’t envy the other vigilante having to track individual weapons from a black market weapons deal that went down at least a day ago with who knows how many unknown buyers. Although at least Hood has a nasty reputation he can lean on to get quick intel out of basically anyone.

“Fifty-three.” He gives a rueful, tired grin, clearly aware of the implications there. “I get any points for extra credit?”

_Whoops. Finding an extra gun might mean his initial assumptions are mistaken somehow. We may be dealing with multiple shipments that got through instead of just one, or possibly the manufacturer had more culls than they reported. There might even be more than one weapon manufacturer involved, although that seems less plausible than the alternate explanations. Then again, there are plenty of people all over willing to get their hands dirty for a little extra cash._

Going by the look on his face, Hood has already thought all of that through on his own and he’s not looking forward to tracing the surplus gun. “I’m gonna head back to the Cave, check all the serials on these pieces of shit against the factory cull records and try to see where the extra comes into play.”

Red Robin nods, already working through the best way to do that when all the guns likely have their serial numbers partially filed off. The fact that whomever took care of this aspect of the smuggling was sloppy enough to leave partials is extremely helpful, but it’s still got to be a pain to try to match them up. No wonder Hood was up all night. At least he managed to catch a long nap in the Manor library once Dick finally released them from his impromptu how-to-strip workshop before heading back out on patrol.

“You need an assist with that?” The offer slips out before he has a chance to think better of it.

After what happened during the pole dancing earlier, he _really_ shouldn’t be seeking out opportunities to be alone with Hood. Then again, the other man had also embarrassed himself during their practice together. And, as Dick had explained amidst actual tears of poorly suppressed laughter, having a physical reaction is perfectly normal during certain forms of vigorous exercise.

That knowledge had in no way helped Red feel better when he’d actually _sprung wood_ just from Hood’s steadying hand on his hip while he twisted around the pole. It didn’t look like it reassured the other man much either about the equally humiliating erection he’d also turned out to be sporting, devastatingly visible in his obscenely tight eggplant-colored shorts.

Hood glances up at him, startled, and then blushes faintly, probably also remembering the incident earlier.

After their little awkward moment, they’d each worked their own pole and avoided eye contact for the remainder of the practice. Although that hadn’t prevented a few more embarrassing _incidents_, punctuated by Dick’s amused grins and Damian’s judging looks of sheer disgust.

At least most of the awkward had worn off by the time they all had to try on their costumes… although what the _hell _had Hood meant by that last little comment about Tim’s looks?

_He was exhausted and had no idea what he was saying. I’m sure he didn’t _mean _anything by it._

Nonetheless, his heart skips a beat at the thought of spending more time with the handsome older man. Which really shouldn’t be surprising, considering the secret he’s hiding right now.

_As long as he never finds out I’m attracted to him, we’ll be fine. Which means… Yeah, I should probably find a way to return that shirt he left out that I shoved into my locker because I’m an idiot and it smells like him. Oh god, why am I such a mess?_

“If you don’t mind…” The older man’s voice sounds hesitant, but not uncomfortable.

Red smiles faintly. “Of course not. Meet you back at the Cave?” Maybe the motorcycle ride back through the frigid early morning air will be enough to cool him off. He’d rather not spend the entire time working together blushing like an idiot, thinking about all the what-the-hell moments that have gone down between them today.

“Sounds good, Baby Bird.” As Hood turns away, Red Robin stares after him for a moment.

_Was he blushing…?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bruce, returning home after a long mission: ** *Walks into Cave, sees sons gyrating on poles while dressed as hookers. Immediately turns and walks out* “Nope”  
**Dick, confused: ** “Was that Bruce?” *Glances around, resumes gyrating when no one answers*  
*  
**Tim, trying to hide his secret soulmark from Jason by not spending much time with him: ** “Hey let’s spend a bunch of time alone together” *Facepalms*  
**Jason, trying not to let on he’s been hard as nails since he first saw Tim in his stripper costume: ** “Sure, why the fuck not” *Surreptitiously adjusts himself* “This can’t possibly end badly”


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred moves carefully through the Cave, meticulously gathering up the errant coffee cups and plates which lie abandoned in his family’s workspaces. He straightens piles of jumbled writing supplies and wipes the monitor screens clean of unidentifiable smudges which he firmly chooses to believe are sweat and _certainly _not blood or other, even less palatable substances.

A cast-off mask receives an offended sniff from him and he directs a glance of mild reproof at the object before slipping it into his pocket. His expression dissolves to a fond smile after a moment of thought.

_Master Jason _was _quite exhausted today. It is no surprise his usual tidy habits fell by the wayside under the circumstances._

He pats his pocket, planning to clean the mask and return it to its proper place in the lad’s locker. Just the thought of _Master Jason _using his locker in the Cave is still a new enough circumstance to bring a mild smile to his face, the only outward sign he is _beaming_ internally_._

His boys are all asleep upstairs in a rare convergence of nearly all of the family under one roof. Miss Cass is still in Hong Kong, of course, and Miss Steph and Miss Babs are elsewhere in their own homes, but all of the other children who belong to Master Bruce are here.

_Ah, what I would give to have all my family here more often. Well, when the young ladies come to visit next, I shall certainly have an excellent opportunity to spoil them. For now…_

A faint smile grows on his wrinkled old face as his mind constructs a series of carefully planned meals designed to balance out the nutritive requirements of an active vigilante with the remembered favorites of several very beloved little boys.

Master Damian is simple to please, with his preference for healthy meals excluding meat. Master Tim as well has a strong predilection for fresh produce and finds heavy, rich food unappealing. Those two rarely present a challenge, except in pinning the elder down long enough to actually _eat _what is placed before him when he is deeply focused on a case.

Now, Master Jason is another matter entirely. His favorite treats are all deeply unhealthy but can be improved with a few minor adjustments to the recipe. Vegetables may be stealthily inserted beneath sauces, ground turkey may be substituted for beef… There are many options. Although Alfred will never again attempt to give the lad a chilidog on a whole wheat roll as he had done years before. The poor boy had given him such a speaking look of _betrayal _as he ate it. Still, he _had _insisted on seconds and even thirds, so it couldn’t have been too unpleasant.

With all his skills, training, and experience, he can even manage a healthy version of the atrociously sugar-laden treats Master Dick favors when given the choice. He smiles at the thought of the looks of pleasure on their faces and is glad he is able to give them some measure of happiness, if only in his own small ways.

Alfred moves through the lockers next, organizing, straightening, and resupplying each with suitable clean or new items while disdainfully culling threadbare, filthy, or otherwise _unacceptable_ attire. As he finishes with Master Tim’s locker, he pauses with an article of clothing in his hands.

_That shirt most certainly does _not _belong to Master Tim._

The item in question is quite large, certainly of a size to fit Master Bruce or Master Jason. The slender young man would be dwarfed should he attempt to don it. Alfred merely blinks at the soft, worn shirt in his hand before carefully refolding it and putting it back where he found it, smoothing gently across it with one faintly trembling hand.

_Oh, Master Tim…_

Not for the first time, he wonders if the family’s approach to the young master’s condition was truly the appropriate response. Back in his own now-distant youth, those suffering from soulmark resistance were still viewed with superstition and dread. The unfortunate few unable to form soulmarks on their skin were rumored to be evil, or even to lack souls at all.

Nowadays, of course, medical science has advanced far enough to show that soulmark resistance is simply a medical condition like any other, and harmless at that. Merely a matter of the skin’s lacking a particular series of proteins necessary to receive and respond to the pheromones released during the soulmark formation process.

Most of those who suffer from soulmark resistance can neither form nor inspire soulmarks, their bodies lacking the ability to send pheromones at all. A very few are between worlds, capable of sending but not receiving, and while they will spend their lives markless their own soulmark will form on those who love them deeply. Both situations are difficult, and the seemingly kindest way to cope with Master Timothy’s condition has simply been not to draw attention to his difference.

_Still…_

He thinks of the longing look in the boy’s eyes, whenever he catches sight of a soulmark left visible on any of his family. The lad never raised the subject himself, and so they had simply carried on as though it hadn’t mattered. Which, while _true, _may not have been the message the boy needed.

Implicit acceptance and affection may very well have proven insufficient for a child who could never look to his own skin to see evidence of his own parents’ love. It is beginning to appear increasingly likely the young master is having trouble trusting in love, fated as he is always to question its truth in a world where nearly everyone else can see implicit proof on their own bodies and the bodies of their loved ones.

He thinks of the marks on his own skin, covered these many years out of respect to his former master and mistress. After all, who is _he _to wear their child’s mark, and their grandchildren’s? He has no true right, and yet…

_Have we not mourned you long enough? I never intended to take your place, but they’re all mine now quite as much as they were ever yours. And… I am growing so very weary of hiding my heart._

Alfred sighs as he straightens, carefully positioning his body before lifting the heavy basket so as not to unduly aggravate his protesting knees and back. He isn’t as young as he used to be, after all.

He thinks about that shirt again, tucked away in Master Tim’s locker like a secret hope. Knowing the young masters, he worries the boys will never bring themselves to dare reach out, let alone come to any manner of happy arrangement together.

Master Tim will lack the confidence to approach Master Jason, knowing he can never show the depth of his love in the usual way and feeling inadequate as a result.

And Master Jason will never presume to approach Master Tim, thinking he would never be able to inspire such love anyway after their checkered past, even were the younger lad capable of displaying it in the traditional manner.

_Perhaps we were wrong not to speak of it with him. With any of them. All of the boys simply learned by example to hide their soulmarks in Master Tim’s presence._

The rule to never show soulmarks around young Master Tim to avoid rubbing his face in his unfortunate condition was ill-advised from the start, and Alfred is growing more convinced by the moment the time for change is quickly approaching. The children _all _need to know how deeply loved they each are.

_Very well, _he thinks as he begins moving carefully toward the stairs, already planning his next steps. _It is time something be done about this nonsense._

* * *

“Boys, we’ve got the intel you’ve all been waiting for!” Oracle’s voice sounds way too cheerful as the Batcomputer screen lights up and fills with her image. A grinning Steph peers over her shoulder, clearly way the hell too delighted with whatever bullshit they’re about to throw down.

The small hairs on the back of Jason’s neck prickle. The blonde is looking directly at _him, _an evil grin lighting her deceptively beautiful face.

_Aw, fucknuggets. I’m the goddamn stripper?_

“You’re the stripper!” Steph crows with delight, looking only slightly guilty when Babs directs a remonstrative look her way.

Jason makes a face as he senses more than sees the others crowding around behind him. “…Shit.”

“Wait, why him? Jay’s not _that _much bigger than I am,” Dickie says with a concerned glance his way. He’s obviously still worried about Jason’s earlier reaction to the idea of stripping.

_Seriously, Dickhead’s heart is way the fuck too big._

“It’s fine, Dick.” It _will_ be.

Babs interrupts, voice sympathetic but firm. “So, we’ve found out the target prefers big, muscular men.”

“He likes _hunks!” _Steph contributes helpfully. Babs rolls her eyes tolerantly at the interruption and continues.

“Jason’s the one who best fits the profile we finally managed to put together. It was a tremendous amount of work—”

“Hours and _hours!” _Steph chimes in with a filthy grin that has Tim raising an amused eyebrow and shaking his head at her.

“And I’m sure it was torture,” he says, smirking.

“The worst!” she agrees brightly, clearly not even a little bit traumatized or ashamed.

Jason leaves them chatting while he heads over to his locker to get himself into his sleazy costume. Now that they have the go-ahead, Oracle’s probably already got his pre-encoded profile embedded in the systems at the target’s club. He’ll show up for work tonight, do the deed and get the bugs planted. If everything goes as expected, they’ll finally be able to move in on this shitstain and topple his little kingdom within the week.

At least he and Tim managed to figure out the whole mystery about the extra semi-automatic he’d confiscated on patrol last night. Turned out, one of the guns he snagged _wasn’t _one of the defective weapons at all, just similar enough to fool him. Which means the count adds up, so there aren’t any other shitty exploding guns out on the streets right now. And now that they’re finally moving forward to stop the perp, there _won’t _be any more coming in.

_Might as well get this over with, _he thinks as he reaches for his—

…Huh.

His stripper clothes aren’t there. Just to be sure, he shuffles everything out of his locker, noting other missing items. The makeup bag, heels he uses, fishnets… even the goddamn jewelry and chains. Every piece of clothing and accessory that makes up his costume for the evening is just _gone._

_What the fuck?_

“Uh, guys? I think we got a problem.”

Even if he goes out right now, a suitably professional stripper outfit for a guy his size is _not _easy to throw together at a moment’s notice. The heels have to be _custom made, _for fuck’s sake.

“What’s the matter, Jason?” Dick crowds up behind him to peer in his locker, and Tim isn’t far behind.

“All my stripper shit’s gone.”

Their eyes widen as they all pause to take that in. It’s not like someone from the outside could just break into the Cave. Even if someone _could, _they’d never focus on some kinky fetish-wear when they have the entire resources of the Bat at their fingertips. Hell, he half-suspects it might actually have been _Dickie _who took it, maybe in a totally unnecessary bid to protect him.

“…Huh,” Tim says, eyes darting back and forth between them and clearly coming to the same conclusion. “Okay. Well, let’s put a pin in _that _little mystery and come back to it later. For the moment, let’s blame Damian and move on.” A teasing little smirk appears on his face.

_Little shit, _Jason thinks appreciatively.

Said pint-sized gremlin scowls up at his brothers, exclaiming in protest, _“I _had naught to do with this, _Drake! _Perhaps it was _you, _in a fit of jealousy at the thought of any but yourself gyrating temptingly upon the target!”

Tim makes a face. “Ew,” he says. “…No. Anyway, how are we going to make this work? Nothing the rest of us have is going to fit you, Jay.”

Dick shrugs, giving a lopsided smile. “Like I said before, I can do it. I’m not _that _different in body type and looks than Jason. I’m sure I can do in a pinch.”

_Yeah, it was totally Dickie. I’ll give you a hug for this later… right after I punch you in the face for thinking I needed your protection. Fuck it, I’ll just give you the damn hug. Thanks, Dickhead._

“But I thought the fucker liked _hunks,” _Jason says, to cover the wave of relief he feels at not having to put himself out there like that. “You’re a _twunk, _Dickie.”

“Close enough!” His brother grins, eyes sparkling. What a dork.

No one’s grinning a moment later when Dick heads over to his locker and finds his own costume and accessories are also missing.

_…Shit. Well, that tanks my theory about what the fuck happened to my costume. Still, the next obvious solution to who’s gonna put the moves on the target now…_

“I _hate _going undercover as a stripper,” Tim mutters to himself as he visibly mentally sketches out the best plan of attack for their current case, doing his best to ignore the evil grin spreading on Jason’s face.

_I wouldn’t mind seeing Timmy in his stripper costume again… although I sure as shit hate the idea of that fucker having his hands on him. Maybe I can sneak after them and just beat the intel outta the guy instead?_

Tim swallows, raising a brow and shrugging. “I don’t exactly fit the profile, like, at _all, _but I _think _I could do it?”

“Really, Timbo? Well, I guess you _are _pretty built, for a twink.” Of course, Jason might be biased in his opinions about the younger man. _He _can’t take his eyes off him, so why would anyone else want to?

Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise when Tim can’t find his costume either.

_Well, this just hit _concerning_ on the scale from one to panic._

“I suppose _I _could—” Damian barely manages to start talking before a yell emanating from every single one of them, and also Babs and Steph from over on the Batcomputer, abruptly cuts him off.

_“NO!”_

The Cave echoes briefly after their resounding collective denial sends the bats screeching and flapping overhead. The boy grumbles quietly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at them for the unforgivable offence of trying to protect whatever’s left of his innocence.

Dick tousles the kid’s hair, probably the only one of them who could do so without getting a finger bitten off for their trouble. “We just want to keep you safe, Dami.”

The boy scowls, but tolerates the attention and doesn’t raise any further protests. So, basically a complete agreement and a hug, when translated into Damian.

“None of you will be going,” Batman’s dark, gravelly whisper reaches them from across the Cave and they all straighten, turning to face him.

“What the fuck, B? You just gonna cancel the whole damn mission because we had a fuckin’ _wardrobe malfunction?” _Jason’s starting to get worked up at the thought. They’ve all put a hell of a lot of planning into this, and there’s no _way _they’re going to just let those assholes walk. Not when the consequences to the people of Gotham would be so dire.

“No.” All his burgeoning protests die at the single word from Batman.

“Well, what are we going to _do, _then?” Dick just looks angry and a touch confused, fingers twitching like his hands want to be fists.

Tim nods, biting his lip. “All of our plans depend on having someone on the inside getting close to the target by catching his attention for a private dance.”

Batman continues to stare at them for a long moment, not answering. Just as Jason feels like he’s about to scream if only to break the goddamn dramatic tension, the cape flutters.

And falls away.

Revealing…

_Oh my fuckin’ god, I can _not _believe this is happening._

“Holy _fishnets, _Batman!” Dickie is constitutionally incapable of refraining from making inappropriate, dumb jokes. It’s just an accepted fact and they’ve all learned to live with it.

“What the fuck?” Jason asks, quite reasonably.

“Um…” Tim’s wide-eyed, staring in utter horror at the spectacle before them. _“…B?” _he squeaks.

“…Father?” Damian says faintly, and Tim and Dick both blindly reach out a hand to cover their little brother’s eyes, still unable to tear their own gazes away from the sight of _Bruce _dressed as a fuckin’ _stripper._

_He must’ve shaved for this shit, _Jason thinks, still staring in bemused horror at the sight. _B’s a fuckin’ _bear _normally, and I don’t see a single hair on him anywhere but his head right now._

_“I_ will be taking the undercover role,” Batman growls, copious body glitter sparkling faintly. “Do any of you have a _problem _with that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Alfred, reflecting back on the family policy of avoiding all sight or mention of soulmarks and therefore love: ** *Realizes this has had a horrendous impact on literally all of them* “Oh, bollocks”  
*  
**Jason, fingers crossed, whispering: ** “Please don’t let me be the goddamn stripper—”  
**Steph, gleefully: ** “Jason’s the stripper!”  
**Jason, pouting: ** “Aw, fucknuggets” *Stomps off to go put on thong* “Wait where’s my fuckin’ thong?”  
**Dick, painfully sincere: ** “I’ll be the stripper and protect my Little Wing!” *Removes all his clothing* “Wait where’s MY thong?”  
**Tim, covering his eyes with one hand and Damian’s with the other: ** “Uh…”  
**Bruce, appearing out of nowhere dressed in hardcore fetish gear: ** “I’M the stripper. For JUSTICE.” *Inhales slowly, nipple clips sparkling mesmerizingly* “Let’s go”


	5. Chapter 5

Jason’s grinning widely as he guides the red Aston Martin Valkyrie around a curve, not slowing down at all because he’s _insane_. Tim has driven this car before and he knows exactly how responsive she is. And how _fast. _His fingers tighten marginally, instinctively wanting to clutch at something and hold on tight as the shadowy nighttime scenery blurs past his window.

_Somehow driving at this speed feels a hell of a lot faster when it’s _Jason _behind the wheel…_

Tim’s not accustomed to riding in the passenger seat, that’s for sure. Having to do so now is making him uncomfortable and anxious.

It’s definitely that, and not the fact that he’s alone in a car with Jason Todd, the man whose soulmark is slowly making its way across his chest with the almost certain ultimate target of his _heart._

_No one has_ my_ soulmark, _he reminds himself. _And based on every precedent to date, no one ever _will. _Unreciprocated soulmarks are _not _the way to start any kind of relationship, especially one as fraught as something between me and Jason would be considering our history. There are too many pitfalls if something goes wrong, which it inevitably would._

At least his soulmarks are safely concealed as per usual and his cover tonight is just a young socialite planning on having a good time, not the stripper representing the evening’s entertainment. He feels infinitely more comfortable in the sinfully tight jeans and maroon oxford with the top three buttons undone than the flimsy, attention-grabbing outfit that Bruce apparently managed to magic out of the Cave with his protective Batdad powers.

_Who would have thought B would be so opposed to any of his children getting unwillingly felt up by a hardened crimin—wait, I think I just answered my own question._

Tim’s got faith in the durability of the soulmark concealers he uses, but the thought of all his skin on display like that…

Well, it would have been risky, to say the least.

And the idea of _anyone _finding out about all his pathetic, unreciprocated soulmarks, let alone _Jason…_

_I never want to live that nightmare._

He imagines the realization in all their eyes, followed by the inevitable pity. It’s definitely an outcome he’s got to avoid at all costs. That’s something he has to keep in mind tonight, and going forward. Remembering the potential consequences will be the best way to keep himself from getting too close to the older man.

“Fuck, I gotta borrow B’s cars more often. This thing drives like a goddamn _dream!” _Jason’s excited voice and the broad, open grin on his face as he glances over at him momentarily take his breath away. He didn’t bother with anything differently from usual, so he’s just in his normal jeans and a leather jacket, but…

He’s so damn _beautiful _in that moment, as though the many tragedies of the past decade have been wiped away and he’s the same confident, hopeful kid he was back before his near-literal trip to hell and back.

Something twists in Tim’s chest and he can’t speak for the ache in his heart.

Jason’s brow furrows as he regards him, concern dawning on his ruggedly handsome face. “You okay there, Baby Bird?”

He shakes it off, turning back to face forward before taking a deep breath to center his mind on the mission again. “I’m fine. Watch the road.”

The other man slowly obeys, but the slight, puzzled frown lingers on his brow and he keeps darting quick little glances at him for the remainder of the drive to the club. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and doesn’t do anything to calm his jittery nerves or the anxious knot twisting his stomach. Tim finds himself wishing he’d never developed Jason’s soulmark at all, even though he’d been happy when it first appeared. It had seemed like a sign of how far they’d come from the days when his predecessor blamed him for everything and actively hated him.

Now it’s just one more thing that’s gone wrong between them.

_At least once we’re inside the music will be too loud for us to have to talk to each other much, _he thinks as they enter the crowded club.

Moments later, back pressed tightly against Jason’s muscular, firm chest as the taller man nibbles at his neck and fucking _undulates _against him to the driving beat of the music, Tim realizes there are far worse things than having to _talk _to each other.

_I regret _everything _that has led up to this moment._

Jason’s thick, strong arm is clasped around his middle, palm flat against his abs helping to guide his movements while his other hand is going back and forth between caressing his jaw and smoothing slowly over his chest. The searing heat of his touch is taking Tim’s breath away and he’s achingly aware of every point of contact between their bodies.

He’s getting hard in his jeans and has no _idea _what is going on anywhere else in the room because the only thing he can see is Jason’s big hand, now delicately turning his face to one side. The only thing he can _feel _is Jason, pressed against him _everywhere._

“Over there,” Jason whispers in his ear, sending an electric thrill through his entire body. He can feel the rumble of the other man’s deep voice through his own body and the sensation sends warmth pooling low in his belly.

Tim blinks dazedly, rock hard now and not really thinking at full capacity as a result. “Wha…?”

A deep, warm chuckle _ignites _the heat kindling inside him, sparking out from every place where their bodies are touching.

Which is a _lot._

“Hey, Timbo, you sure you’re okay?” And now the other vigilante’s looking _concerned _again, great.

“I’m fine. What’ve we got?” He turns to look in the direction Jason’s hand is guiding him to see. And…

_Oh my god._

He blinks, but the image doesn’t change.

_Welp, on the bright side, seeing _that_ definitely killed my awkward boner._

That’s little comfort right now, considering the sheer horrifying _holy shit _of what he’s staring at right now. There on the stage, lit by multiple colored spotlights and moving in a seductive and slightly terrifying manner to the pulsing music, is _Bruce._

_At least with all that makeup he doesn’t really look like himself right now, or else I’d have to develop actual brain bleach to cleanse these images from my mind._

“He’s… _wow. _Um, really _working _that pole, isn’t he? Did you, um, know he could _do _that?” Tim stares some more, wishing he had the willpower to turn away.

_I’m just afraid this is going to kill my boner _forever.

“Hell no, I’ve never seen him do this shit before! Although I guess it’s not _that _much of a surprise. B’s always been a fuckin’ perfectionist. He’d hate the idea of there being _anything _he doesn’t excel at, and learn it just outta goddamn spite.” Jason’s not looking at the stage anymore. Instead, he’s entirely focused on Tim and the attention leaves him breathless.

_Okay, never mind, boner’s still alive and well! Goddamn it…_

“Baby Bird? You _sure _you’re okay? You’re really fuckin’ flushed, and now you’re talking to yourself—” Jason stops abruptly, and in that instant Tim realizes with a rising sense of embarrassment and a thrilling, furtive astonishment that _Jason _is definitely hard too. And pressing against him tightly while their bodies move together in a really damn convincing simulation of sex.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Tim…” he breathes in his ear, shuddering. “You’re just so fuckin’ _pretty _and _small…” _His huge hands slide over his body again. “Damn, I _knew _I shoulda made Dickie do this and taken the lookout position myself.”

Tim really shouldn’t ask, but… “You didn’t want to dance with me?” he murmurs, voice small as he starts to peel himself away from the other man. It figures, really. Of course, even though Jason is apparently attracted to him by some miracle, he doesn’t _want _to be.

_Why did I expect anything more, even for a moment?_

The big arms lock securely around him, holding him in place. “I wanted to dance with you _too much.”_

And _oh._

They’re supposed to be keeping an eye on Bruce, who is now gyrating in an athletic manner on the stage. It doesn’t seem particularly sexy to Tim, but then again, nothing about B ever does. Probably something about imprinting on him as a parental figure at an impressionable age before he was old enough to notice things like shoulders and thighs.

He twists in Jason’s arms to face him, feeling daring and crazy and vulnerable all at once. “And why is that a problem?” he whispers, hardly daring to even breathe as he waits.

There’s shock and hope in Jason’s bright eyes. “Guess it isn’t,” he answers as he leans forward to claim Tim’s lips in a searing kiss. His big, warm hands are _everywhere, _stroking his sides and down to his lower back, squeezing and pulling him close before the big man draws back with a pained groan. _“Fuck.”_

_Yeah, that sounds like a good idea right now._

He blinks at the taller man, kiss-swollen mouth dropping open a little as he looks up in a daze. “Mmm?”

Jason looks at him, pupils blown and hair mussed because apparently Tim got his hands in it during that hurricane of a kiss. He leans in fractionally before pulling himself together. “Shit, timing. God _damn _I hate saying this, but we gotta take a rain check on this, Baby Bird.”

_Oh yeah, mission. Whoops. What the hell just happened, anyway?_

Shaking it off, Tim bites his lip and then nods. “You’re right.” Switching mental modes, he scans the club. “And just in time, too. B’s headed to the back, so let’s get into position.”

* * *

The music is pulsing and he’s working up a sweat already, body flexing powerfully under the bright lights. He’s actually grateful that the lighting makes it difficult to make out faces in the gathered crowd. It’s easier not to break cover when he doesn’t have to look at the naked hunger in all those eyes on him.

Seeing that would render it impossible for him to forget that it was supposed to be his _son_ up here, with all those lecherous eyes devouring him.

_Thank god I returned home in time to prevent that,_ he thinks as he moves his pelvis through a methodical gyration in sync with the music, pumping his hips forward on every downbeat. It’s time to lose the pants.

He had stripped off the shirt almost immediately when he got on the stage, knowing his muscular chest would be an enticement for the target based on Oracle’s intel. He’d wanted to maintain the illusion of dignity for as long as possible, so despite the crowd’s heckling he had performed with pants on for the majority of his act.

Well, time’s up.

The pants rip off easily, which is unsurprising considering these are specially designed breakaways he developed years ago. _Many_ years ago; it’s been a very long time since he’s needed to go undercover in this sort of club. He finds he does not miss those days in the slightest.

_Have the boys been doing this? Did I miss them putting themselves in this type of situation? If _that_ is why I haven’t been forced to do so myself in recent years_,_ I will never be able to make this up to them._

At least he found out about it in time to prevent anything from happening… _this_ time. And he will certainly be able to institute rules for the future. His children’s bodies and sexuality are _not _part of the mission and he will not allow them to make that sacrifice.

He spins in place, stalking forward to grasp and climb the pole. Bruce knows his body is powerful, large and imposing. He can’t use dainty, graceful movements like Tim or even Dick could pull off under these circumstances. No, he’s more like Jason; vicious, dangerous and barely tamed.

He thinks about how his second son looked in his costume the previous day, like a barely leashed wild beast, ready to tear out the throat of any who dared to touch him.

_Well, if that’s what the target wants, that’s what he’s going to get. I doubt he’ll be ready for it, though._

Bruce smirks grimly, quickly altering his predatory expression into what he hopes is an enigmatic, enticing smile. He hasn’t had to seduce someone into his bed in years, so the mannerisms aren’t as natural to him and practiced as they once were.

He slowly twists down the pole, gripping it tightly between his thighs as he arches backward, pressing his hips forward and putting everything he has on display. At least, as far as those watching know. The audience, anyway. His sons are out there and are most definitely aware of _exactly_ which hidden weapons he has secreted away in his minimal costume, but he hopes to god none of them are observing too closely right now.

If they are…

Well.

He’ll deal with that later, if needed. Or not, as the case may be. He is aware the lack of open communication and emotional cognizance in his immediate family may not be optimal; however, it is beneficial on occasion. Such as in this instance, which he and his children will most likely never mention again in their desperate mutual endeavor to forget it ever happened.

The song finally ends as he hits the stage in an alluring, invitingly provocative pose and he pauses there for a moment, chest heaving with exertion. Bruce hides a wince. He’s going to be feeling that tomorrow. He isn’t as young as he used to be and the movements that come so seemingly effortlessly to Dick are likely to have him lying in bed with a heating pad for the first half of the day.

Rising and making sure to display his body to maximum effect, he stalks off the stage and then pauses in the wings to wait. From the shadows, he is finally able to make out the audience. And…

There are Tim and Jason, entwined on the dance floor. They look utterly absorbed in each other, entirely distracted.

“Hn,” he grunts, approving of their excellent acting abilities. Anyone looking at the pair would be convinced they are about to begin ripping each other’s clothing off rather than entirely focused on Bruce and the target.

He glances around but is unable to locate Nightwing in the rafters. That is also as expected and according to plan. His eldest son should be tracking him from above, at the ready to provide backup the moment he voices the code word.

It won’t be necessary. He will not be involving any of his children in what is about to happen.

The target is on the move, whispering into the host’s ear. The man gives a lecherous smirk as the host nods and looks toward the stage, then moves in Bruce’s direction.

“We’re go,” he growls into the hidden mic, then says nothing more as the target is in front of him.

Richard Patterson is exactly as slimy in person as Bruce would have expected from the man he has read so much about in his children’s mission reports. He’s going to enjoy bringing this piece of filth down.

Within moments of the host introducing him, the target’s clammy, moist hand is on Bruce’s lower back, partially resting on the rise of his glutes. It takes all of his much-vaunted control not to snap that wrist. Fortunately, Patterson doesn’t waste any time in relocating, drawing him away to move down the darkened hall to a private room. The din of the music and club grows more muted the farther they go.

_I wonder if Patterson will make a pretense at following the club’s rules of look, don’t touch, or if he’ll attempt to negotiate sex immediately._

The target aggressively pursuing bodily contact can only help the actual mission of planting bugs on the criminal’s person, but Bruce can’t help but clench his jaw as unwanted thoughts of each of his sons in this position cycle tauntingly through his mind.

As they enter the private room, Patterson skips straight past any attempt at negotiation and uses his flabby, middle-aged body to press Bruce to the wall, attempting to drive his thick, sour tongue through his teeth and far too deeply to be comfortable into his mouth. His foul breath, chapped lips, and clammy hands momentarily flood Bruce’s senses and he suppresses a frown of disgust.

It occurs to him in that moment that while this man is out of shape, he also outweighs Tim by at _least_ a hundred pounds. His mind unwillingly fills with the image of his third son, caught and pinned by this monster and going along with it for the sake of the goddamn _mission_—

He has his hand around the criminal’s throat and is pinning him to the wall and growling in his ear before he realizes he’s even moving.

“Wha- what the_ hell _are you_ doing?!” _Patterson claws at his arm, but all his struggles have no effect.

Bruce smiles harshly.

_We can just do this the hard way._

_“We _are not doing anything. _You _are going to be answering all of my questions.” He cracks his knuckles, eager to begin as Patterson’s already pasty face goes even paler. He smiles pleasantly as he makes sure the recording devices are all in place and functioning. “Shall we get started?”

Some time later, he finishes choking the criminal mastermind out with his thighs and then rises to his feet, a sense of grim satisfaction and accomplishment suffusing his being.

_We’ll be able to bring down his entire empire with everything I got on record. Nothing he said here is admissible in court, of course, but he’s given us all the threads we need to catch him in his own web and gather the hard evidence we need to convict. Not only him, but his subordinates and likely many of his contacts as well._

_And none of my sons had to compromise themselves to do it._

_A good night’s work, all in all._

He activates his comms. “Change of plans. Criminal is secured. I have sufficient evidence to get him arrested and held overnight. By tomorrow, Oracle will have the rest. Dismissed. Meet and debrief to follow at the Cave.”

He hears the unmistakable sound of Jason scoffing over the comms. “Well, damn. I guess that somehow you stealin’ all our stripper gear and going under yourself worked out, B, but what the _fuck _were you planning to do if it turned out the asshole like twinks, huh? Go on a crash diet to lose a hundred pounds? You fuckin’ lucked out with this shit.”

Bruce manages to suppress his eyeroll as he moves to secure the prisoner and accepts his change of clothing from Dick.

_I would have done the same thing I ended up doing tonight, obviously. Beat the truth out of him and then choke him out with my thighs before even _thinking _of letting him lay hands on any of you._

His lips twitch in a smirk which quickly fades to just a trace of a smile.

_It’s my duty as a father, after all. Even if I _am _going to be extremely sore tomorrow. You’re worth it. Every one of you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, worried and anxious as they enter the club: ** “Well at least we’re working so there won’t be time for any awkward—” *Yelps as Jason reels him in and starts grinding on him from behind* “OMG”  
**Jason, realizing he’s made a terrible mistake: ** “Aw shit” *Unsuccessfully tries to hide boner*  
**Tim, hesitant: ** “Is that a gun, or…?” *Slowly smirks*  
**Jason, panicking: ** “It’s definitely a gun! Uh, careful there or it might go off” *Groans as Tim giggles and then grinds back into him* “Wait fuck this is great and all but we gotta do the mission”  
*  
**Bruce, being felt up by repellent asshat: ** “Screw this” *Beats asshat into the ground, chokes him out with thighs, and kicks him repeatedly in the nads* “Hn” *Feels tremendous sense of satisfaction and personal accomplishment, kicks asshat in the nads once more for good measure*


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred straightens his shoulders and steps forward as his family begins to assemble in the Cave following the successful completion of their mission. Now is the time to begin implementation of his own plan.

He clears his throat, halting Master Richard and Master Damian’s progress toward the showers. “A word, if you please, young masters.” He catches sight of Master Tim hovering at the entrance to the showers, a questioning brow raised. “Ah, go ahead, Master Tim, this particular matter does not directly affect you.”

He gives the lad a gentle nod. The boy flashes a quick, slightly confused smile before disappearing into the showers where the sound of splashing water presently begins. It is not unusual for Alfred to single out the perpetrators of such atrocities as tracking mud into the Manor or concealing injuries, so the young man’s suspicions have not been raised.

_Now, if only I could be certain… But surely evidence of our love will outweigh any discomfort he has due to his unfortunate condition._

Master Bruce and Master Jason approach as well, staring at him expectantly. It is time.

“I have a confession to make before you disperse to cleanse the sweat of your mission from your bodies. You see, I have made a temporary alteration to the shower facilities here in the Cave.” Puzzled frowns appear on their faces, but no one seems to have guessed his purpose yet.

_I can only hope I am doing the right thing._

He draws in a deep breath and then slowly releases it. “I believe we have too many secrets in this family. Some of those secrets must remain so and are, indeed, essential not only to the preservation of our own way of life but also that of the entire city and perhaps the world. Others…” He trails off, shaking his head. “There are some things we have kept hidden which should, I feel, have come to light long ago.”

The only sound in the Cave is Master Tim’s continued splashing.

“I have added a low level of a very particular chemical solvent to the water. It is utterly harmless, but will act instantaneously to dissolve the patented covering material commonly used to conceal soulmarks.”

A crashing sound draws everyone’s gaze to the shower.

“Tim?” Master Dick calls out, taking a step in that direction. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the boy’s voice responds, sounding very far from alright. Alfred experiences a momentary qualm, but resolutely pushes onward.

_Even if it causes discomfort at first, much like removing a bandage… This will do us all good in the long run._

He clears his throat again to regain their attention. “In a few minutes, I intend to reveal my soulmarks to you as my family.” Shocked gasps arise from those assembled, and he gives them a mild smile. “I do not use coverup, so I will simply move my shirt aside. The rest of you, however, will most certainly need to remove your coverup if you wish to contribute to the truth-sharing of the evening.” He gestures toward the shower. “Please, be my guests.”

They are all still staring at him in shock when a soft, almost desperate whimper is heard from the direction of the showers.

_Something is truly wrong, _Alfred thinks as he quickly moves to check on his grandson. He makes haste, concerned the boy has slipped and injured himself, but the others are even faster.

* * *

Tim looks around desperately, trying to find something,_ anything_ to get himself out of this situation. He fails. A little whimper slips out before he can manage to suppress it.

_I can’t believe… Why would Alfred just send me to the showers? He warned the others, why not me? Does he _know? _Is this his way of telling me… What?_

The warm spray on his shoulders feels unfairly good. Shouldn’t it sting like the discomfort and brutal rejection he’s almost certainly about to experience? There’s no way he can make it out of the Cave without all of them seeing.

He hears a gasp and closes his eyes, tensing, arms folded clutching his midsection as he waits for the scoffs, the pity.

“Oh my god—” Dick’s voice. “Timmy, you have _soulmarks?!”_

_Um. What? Of course I do? That… is not quite the reaction I was expecting here…_

“Master Tim!” Alfred’s voice sounds pained, which… Well, of course he must feel bad to see his mark on Tim and know it isn’t reciprocated. He’s a kindly man who only wants the best for all of his charges. His eyebrows are soaring and his hand shakes slightly as he raises it to his mouth. “Good lord,” he says faintly.

Tim frowns. Their reactions seem… off. “Um. So… Did you just assume I wouldn’t mind showing my soulmarks? Because all things considered, I’d kinda rather have had a choice here, too…” He trails off at the look of sheer horror on Alfred’s kindly old face.

Bruce and Jason are just staring at his soulmarks in apparent shock, so it’s Damian who finally speaks up. “Why was I told Drake has soulmark intolerance? He very clearly does _not!_ Have I been covering my soulmarks all these years for no good reason? Deplorable! The covering material itches intolerably!”

_What the actual fuck is he talking about? _Soulmark intolerance? _But that’s when someone can’t form marks at all_. _Did they really think_ I_ had that?_

As he attempts to make sense of whatever the hell is happening right now, his little brother strips off his shirt, grumbling, and then steps into the spray beside him. The boy scrubs lightly at his chest and shoulders, but his actions are barely necessary as the coverup seems to simply melt away in the water. Tim catches a glimpse of Dick’s robin and Batman’s scales of justice, both of which he had already known were there from accidental exposure over the years, but…

There’s more. Alfred’s beaver is in the same spot Tim wears it, and Cass’s swan and Jason’s phoenix are on his far shoulder. There’s what looks like a wicked blade on his back which may belong to Talia or Ra’s; Tim would have to examine it closely to know the difference. There’s something else just past the curve of his far shoulder, but he can’t make it out before a grinning, teary-eyed and shirtless Dick shoulders his way into the shower between them.

“Oh my god, _Timmy! _I can’t believe it! You have us all, don’t you? All these years—” The man wiggles in the spray like an excited dog. As he moves, his cover up melts away to reveal _so many_ soulmarks. He sports the same family marks as Damian, plus the older generation of Titans and some others Tim doesn’t recognize. His parents’ marks are behind him but still prominent, proudly displayed in the center of his back. His shoulders and back are _beautiful,_ marked by all the love he’s experienced in his life.

“You… really thought I had _soulmark intolerance?”_ It’s obvious from their actions and what they’ve said that they _did_, but he’s having difficulty understanding the reasoning behind that assumption.

Bruce clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “You were twelve when you began training to be Robin, and it was impossible to miss during your uniform fittings and medical treatment. Your skin was _pristine._ By that age, a normal child should at the very least have developed their parents’ soulmarks unless there is an intervening medical condition.”

Tim bites his lip and silently shifts, lifting his arm and twisting to expose the soulmarks on his ribs. “They didn't have mine,” he whispers, feeling more exposed in that moment than he has the entire time standing here in wet boxer briefs before them all. “I don’t think they liked that I had theirs? Um. They preferred me to keep it covered, and by the time they were gone it was just a habit to cover everything up. It’s not like I _enjoy _seeing reminders that while I am fully capable of _experiencing _deep love, inspiring it in others seems to be beyond me.”

He hears the intake of breath at his side and then finds himself enveloped by an awkward, slippery hug as Dick wraps himself around him like a limpet. “I’m so _sorry,_ little brother. We didn’t understand… We hid our soulmarks around you so you wouldn’t feel left out because we thought you didn’t _have _any. If we had realized…”

Bruce is staring at him, looking lost. “Tim, _son_…”

Alfred appears heartbroken. “Master Tim, I _assure _you I would not have sprung this upon you had I even an inkling of the true situation.”

Tim tugs away, gently disengaging from Dick. “It’s fine, Alfred.” It isn’t, but it’s not the kindly old caretaker’s fault. “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have changed anything if you knew. I mean, I’m still broken. No one’s ever going to have _my _soulmark.”

At his words, Dick chokes, Bruce and Alfred freeze, and Damian bites off a snarled curse, but it’s Jason who moves the fastest. He surges into the shower still fully clothed, tearing off his shirt and scrubbing at his shoulder to reveal… empty skin, beside Cass’s soulmark?

Tim blinks in confusion and Jason frowns down accusingly at his own shoulder, then quickly scrubs at the rest of his chest and upper body. _“Really,_ you slippery little shit? Where the fuck did you _go?”_

“Jay…” Dick says carefully, one judging brow slowly rising, “…did you _lose _a _soulmark?_ I didn’t think that was actually _possible?”_

“No!” Jason says triumphantly with a pleased grin. “Little fucker just went walkabouts, but I found him! There he is, on my heart!” His eyes go wide and stunned as he realizes what he just said. “Holy _shit,_ Baby Bird, you’re on my goddamn _heart.”_

Tim’s not quite processing right as his gaze slowly traces down Jason’s scarred skin, skimming over the family’s marks and the Outlaws’ to settle on…

He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat, not wanting to start crying in front of everyone, but it’s all too _much_ and suddenly he’s trembling, gasping for breath as wracking sobs shake his body.

It’s nothing like he feared it would be, in those moments he dared to even imagine it. It isn’t fixed, isn’t some boring inanimate object. He _hasn’t _given up on his dreams.

The soulmark curled protectively over Jason’s heart, as though guarding a precious treasure, the one that can only be _his…_

It’s a dragon, like his mother’s. Fiery red instead of ice blue, but otherwise almost identical.

It’s stunningly beautiful.

Big arms wrap around him from both sides, Jason and Dick enclosing him in a human cocoon of affection while Damian hovers around the edges and Alfred dabs at his own eyes with a handkerchief seemingly produced out of nowhere.

“You’re on my shoulder,” Dick whispers, showing him. “You’ve been there ever since the night I taught you to train surf.”

Tim squeezes his eyes closed, unable to stop the stupid tears.

“Your soulmark manifested on my body shortly after Father’s return. When I was forced to acknowledge you are not such a useless addition to the family after all.” Damian turns to show him the mark he hadn’t quite been able to discern before on his far shoulder.

The loudspeakers crackle and Babs chimes in. “I’ve had you since you were fourteen and too damn self-sacrificing for your own good.”

Of course, she was listening. They wrapped up the debrief a while ago, but she _is _Oracle, after all.

“I’ve had you on my skin since we were dating, Ex-Boyfriend,” Steph contributes over the loudspeakers. “Never quite made it into romantic territory, but that’s probably for the best. And I know if she were here Cass would want you to know she’s had you since she was Batgirl to your Robin.”

Alfred clears his throat. “Master Tim… My dear boy. I have proudly borne your mark upon my skin since the day you saved Master Bruce and Master Dick, the first time you wore the suit.” His trembling hand draws down the lapel of his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, and tugs it back to reveal all of their marks spread across his aged skin.

Tim blinks back tears, sniffling and scrubbing at his eyes. This is completely overwhelming, but in a good way. He’s never felt so loved and cared for in his entire life, and he’s having trouble believing this can be real.

“What about…?” He looks at his mark on Jason's heart again, then drags his eyes up to the taller man’s face.

“It was a few months ago,” he whispers, pressing a careful kiss to Tim’s hair. “We’d all been working together and getting along decent, and then _boom,_ I got soulmarks for you and the kid and Blondie and Cass to join with the collection I’d carried to my grave.”

Bruce makes a pained noise in the background, which Jason ignores.

“But yours was on my _shoulder_… I swear I had no idea it was shifting at all, let alone heading into romantic.” He shakes his head ruefully as Dick frowns. “Though I guess I shoulda guessed it might be moving, considering how my feelings for you have been changing.”

Dick squints at Jason, a skeptical look on his face. “Wait, Jay… You’re saying Tim’s mark shifted all the way from your shoulder to your heart without you noticing? _How?_ Marks move _really_ slowly.” He raises a brow. “Um, so does that mean you just wear cover up twenty-four seven?”

At Jason’s slight guilty twitch, they all immediately know Dick’s guess is correct.

“Ew, Jay, that’s nasty!” Dick lets go of them and steps away, relinquishing his grip on Tim.

“Indeed, Todd, severe skin infections can occur in cases of prolonged use of soulmark cover-up—” Damian looks ready to list the symptoms out, likely in excruciating detail, when Bruce mercifully interrupts.

“I manifested your soulmark shortly after the first time you were kidnapped.” The Cave goes dead silent but for his movements as he slowly slips off his shirt and undershirt. “Forgive me. I should have realized how important you are to me well before then.”

And Bruce steps into the shower, allowing the water to carry away the coverup which has hidden his soulmarks and protected them from prying eyes for over thirty years.

Tim sees his own soulmark first, curled beside Jason’s while Cass’s swan soars over their heads. Dick’s, Damian’s and Alfred’s are on the other shoulder while Steph’s and Babs’ are slightly further down the arm. A black, slinky cat and a wicked-looking dagger fight for space at the boundary between platonic and romantic. It looks like the cat is winning.

Everyone’s staring, and Tim’s eyes aren’t the only wet ones as Bruce’s children see visible proof for the first time of the depth of his actual love for them.

A graceful pair of cranes pose majestically on his ribs, and Tim sucks in a breath at the evidence the older man is no further along in processing his grief and letting his parents go than _he_ is, despite the wide lapse in time between their respective losses.

“Thanks,” Tim whispers, head bowed with the weight of everything he’s just been given. _“All_ of you, thank you so much.” And he buries his face in Jason’s conveniently available chest, needing a minute to deal with everything that just happened.

A big warm hand runs comforting up and down his back and he relaxes with a shuddering sigh.

* * *

Jason holds Tim in his arms and glares at the others until they all leave. After all _that_, he’s pretty sure he and Timmy deserve a few minutes to themselves.

_I still haven’t had a chance to process any of this, and _I _wasn’t the one who apparently had no idea any other people even had my damn _mark. _Fuck, Tim… I’m so damn sorry you had to live with that. This family’s so fucked up, all the damn secrets everyone’s hiding. Thank god for Alfred._

Everything’s happened so fast he hasn’t even really had a minute to think through the implications of Tim’s mark on his heart, or _his _practically on _Tim’s._

_I can’t believe it, but it’s right there. We both care about each other the same damn way, so there’s actually a real chance…_

“Sorry,” Tim whispers from where his face is still buried in Jason’s chest, stopping all his other lines of thought cold.

“What? No, Baby Bird, you got _nothing _to be sorry for.” He roughly squeezes the smaller man close and noses at his wet hair. “Hey, you wanna maybe get outta the shower? These wet clothes are starting to chafe.”

Tim chuckles wetly and draws back, smiling and blinking water out of his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a good plan.”

They dress in soft, warm clothing that’s mysteriously materialized outside the showers during their interlude, and then find themselves standing there awkwardly. Jason can’t help but notice the loose shirt the smaller man is wearing looks _very_ familiar and he preens internally.

_So that's where that shirt went. He looks _damn_ good in my clothes. Wanna see more of that._

Tim bites his lip and Jason shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then chuckles and runs a hand through his damp hair. “Damn, you’d think this would be easier considering we _know _we’re both interested.”

Tim gives him a shy little smile. “You’d think. But… Soulmarks aren’t really a shortcut, are they? They’re only a reflection of the relationship we’ve already built and what we want from it.”

His words settle something uncertain inside Jason and he steps forward, carefully cradling the shorter man in his arms like he did at the club. There’s heat and desire, yeah, but more than that, he wants to treasure this man. “Well, when you put it like that…” He grins. “Wanna date? We can beat up perps together, finish each other’s sandwiches, and do all that cutesey couple shit that annoys the _fuck _outta _everyone.”_ He waggles his eyebrows enticingly and Tim bursts into soft laughter.

“Who could say no to an offer like _that?” _He rises up on his tiptoes, still grinning, and Jason meets him with a kiss.

_Damn, Tim’s gorgeous and sweet and so fuckin’ smart. Still gonna take us a while to recover from the visual of fuckin’ _B _as a goddamn stripper, though._

He smirks into the kiss.

_Guess we’ll take things slow. Gimme a chance to treat Timmy _right, _like he _deserves. _And _then…

Jason grins, remembering how it felt to hold Tim earlier, to _move _with him like that.

_Fuck, yeah. We’re gonna be just fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Alfred, while Tim’s showering: ** “Btw I rigged the showers to melt off soulmarks”  
**Tim, totally exposed: ** “Fuck” *Attempts to escape by squeezing himself into the drainhole*  
**Dick, leaping to the rescue and pulling Tim out of drain: ** “Timmy NO there are rats down there—wait is that a SOULMARK” *Squees with joy, hugs a struggling Tim*  
**Alfred, stoically flustered: ** “Oh, I say. Rather. Sticky wicket. By Jove!”  
**Tim, nodding understandingly: ** “Huh… that makes sense, thanks for explaining. No worries, Alfred!” *Spots half-naked, wet Jason wearing his soulmark, gulps*  
**Jason, taking Tim in his arms: ** “Yeah, the rest of you guys are gonna wanna scram now” *Smirks, moves in for a kiss as everyone else flees the vicinity* “Ever do it in the shower?”  
**Tim, enthusiastically kissing back: ** “Ask me again in twenty minutes” *Grins, catches lube someone (Dick) tosses from across the Cave*  
**Jason, with feeling: ** “Oh FUCK yeah!”  
*  
And that’s a wrap! For the bingo card, I used the diagonal row from top left to bottom right (soulmate aversion, passenger seat, soulmark/tattoo for the free space, anxiety, and hand holding).  
  
Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and extra thanks to the awesome mods over at Jaytim Week for all their hard work! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for the sprints, betas, and shenanigans while I was writing this.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


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